


the hardest case i've yet to face

by thewalrus_said



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Makeover, Newt Is A Kept Boy, Outfit Montage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Newt has a problem. Astyleproblem. Crowley is best positioned to help him with said problem.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	the hardest case i've yet to face

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Good Omens fashion zine, Threads of Time! We got the go-ahead to finally post, so here it is! Hope you enjoy.

Newt sat up in bed with his arms behind his head, watching Anathema dress. She caught sight of him and rolled her eyes as she slipped on her jacket. But she was smiling, so she didn’t mind.

Her skirt wrapped around her body twice and tucked away somewhere on her other side, out of Newt’s view. “Are you just going to watch me, or are you going to get dressed yourself?” she asked, sitting down at her mirror to pile her hair atop her head.

“Eventually,” he said, watching her wield pins and a length of lacy netting. “Much rather stay naked and watch you.”

“Perv,” she said affectionately.

“Guilty.”

Once her hair was arranged and covered to her satisfaction, she stood and made for the shoe stand, selecting a pair of spiky black boots that disappeared under her skirt and always made Newt want to follow them up. So booted, she came back over to the bed. “Have a good day,” she said, bending down to kiss him deeply. “I’ll be back after dusk.” Newt watched her leave and sighed.

Eventually, lazing around in bed got boring enough that he stood up and wandered to his own closet. Racks of white button-downs and monochromatic t-shirts awaited him, and a small stack of blue jeans and black slacks. He looked over at Anathema’s closet, which was a riot of color, texture, and volume, and then back at his own. Grey t-shirt and jeans it was, then.

Almost without thinking about it, he found himself behind the wheel of Dick Turpin. “Where am I gonna go today,” he murmured. An idea occurred to him. He turned the car on.

It wasn’t far from Tadfield to London, but Aziraphale’s bookshop was in the heart of the city, and with traffic, it was two hours before Newt pulled into a parking spot.  _ Possibly I should have called first and made sure he was in. _ Oh, well. Too late now.

Oh wait, there was the Bentley. Good.

Newt let himself into the bookshop with a tinkle. “We’re closing - oh, it’s you,” Crowley said, appearing from between two shelves. “Aziraphale’s out today, I’m minding the shop.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Newt said. “I mean, I’m here to see you.”

“Oh.” Crowley looked gratified. “What can I do for you?”

“I need help.” Newt squared his shoulders. “Fashion help.” Crowley raised an eyebrow and beckoned for Newt to go on. “It’s just... Anathema has such  _ style, _ and I feel so boring by comparison, and you’re the partner of someone with a kind of old-fashioned style, and I thought maybe you could help me.” Newt drew in a breath. Crowley regarded him.

“Alright,” Crowley said, after a few moments’ consideration. “I’ll help you.” Newt felt his shoulders untense; he hadn’t even realized they  _ were _ tense, that’s how tense they had been. “You’d better come into the back.”

“Why was the shop closing at 11 in the morning?” Newt asked, following Crowley through the shelves of books.

“It’s not, that’s just what Aziraphale told me to say if a customer came in,” Crowley responded over his shoulder. “This way.” He led Newt into a cramped little back room with a desk overflowing with papers and a number of wooden chairs around a similarly-stuffed table. “Sit down,” Crowley said, gesturing at the chairs. He leaned against a bare patch of wall. “First question. How attached are you to your gender?”

“Um,” Newt said, picking a book off the nearest chair and placing it on a sturdy-looking stack of paper on the table. He settled himself into the chair. “I think it’s more that it’s rather attached to  _ me, _ if you know what I mean.”

“Mmm,” Crowley said. “Can’t relate. Anyway, what kind of style are you looking for? Modern, punk, goth? Postcolonial metropolitan? Scene?”

“Um,” Newt said again. “I’m not really sure. Something cool?” he offered. “Modern might look a bit off next to Anathema, so, classical? Is classical a thing? Classical-cool?”

Crowley looked at him again. “Stand up,” he said. Newt stood. “Turn around.” Newt spun a slow circle in place. “Okay,” Crowley said. “What kind of budget are we talking?”

There, Newt was on firmer ground. “I’ve been doing some freelance editing, and Anathema won’t let me pay rent. And she gives me an allowance, so I’ve been building up my savings. I’ve got a fairly large credit limit, too, so that should be okay.”

“Good, good,” Crowley said. “Give me a few days to think, and to look into things. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you  _ so _ much,” Newt said. “It’s been weighing on me.”

“I’ll get you sorted,” Crowley said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Never fear.” He walked Newt out of the shop and saw him off with a wave.

Crowley called five days later. “I’ve got a plan. Meet me tomorrow morning, 10 o’clock.” He rattled off an address. Newt scrambled for a pen and paper, making Anathema stare.

Newt pulled up to the address the next morning at 9:57 sharp. The Bentley was already in one parking spot; Newt pulled Dick Turpin in next to it. The address turned out to be a hair salon.

“Good, you’re here,” Crowley said, when Newt walked in. “This is Tish,” he said, gesturing to a person with no obvious gender. “We’re starting with your hair.”

“Oh, haircuts don’t work on me,” Newt said. Crowley stared at him. “Never have.”

“You’ve never had a haircut from me,” Tish said. “Come on.”

Forty-five later, Tish spun their chair around and Newt got a look at himself. Honestly, he didn’t look that different, but somehow the small changes  _ worked. _ His hair was shorter, tight in on the sides of his head and longer on top, the bangs swooping up over his forehead. “See?” Tish said. “Haircuts  _ do _ work on you.”

“This one does, anyway,” Newt said, tilting his head from side to side to get all the angles. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” Tish said. In the mirror, Newt saw Crowley slip them a thick wad of cash.

Newt paid at the front desk and followed Crowley out. “Where to next?”

“Up for some walking?” Crowley asked. Newt nodded. “Great. Follow me.”

Crowley led Newt down the block and around the corner. Newt followed him for about fifteen minutes until they stopped in front of a shop with no name on the awning. Newt craned his neck to look closer, but nope, no name. “Come on,” Crowley said, opening the door and striding through. Newt caught the door and followed.

The shop, despite the dim windows, was brightly lit inside, and there were clothes scattered throughout. Fewer than Newt would have expected - there were huge empty aisles between the racks, and the walls were almost bare save the odd blazer. Crowley took Newt by the elbow and pulled him through the aisles until they stood in front of the counter at the back. “I have an appointment,” Crowley said. “Name of Pulsifer.” He jerked his head at Newt.

The man at the counter nodded and typed a few things into his computer. “Right this way, sir,” he said to Newt, moving to the end of the counter and passing through the gate. Newt followed him, throwing a confused glance at Crowley, who just grinned at him.

The shop employee took Newt through a door into what turned out to be a large dressing room, with a curtained-off area in the corner. “Arms up, wide stance,” he said, and whipped out a measuring tape.

Once Newt had been measured from nose to toe, the man vanished through another door, leaving Newt to wait. Newt examined himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The haircut was nice, but the rest...

Eventually the man came back with an armful of clothes. Newt slipped into the curtained-off area to try them on, coming out multiple times to be greeted with a shake of the shop employee’s head.

Finally, three shirts from the bottom of the stack, Newt came out and the man raised an eyebrow. “Good,” he said. “That’s quite good. Have a look.”

Back to the mirror. Newt had to admit, it  _ was _ quite good. The shirt was fit slimmer than he was used to, but it did nice things to his waist, and the collar made him look like an adult. “I like it.”

“Excellent.”

The man returned with the same shirt in four different colors, all of which Newt tried on and were deemed suitable for his complexion. Next came the same process all over again, but with shoes and trousers. (The shoes and trousers came as sets, which Newt found odd, but when he asked about it, the employee started going on about color profiles and inseam versus instep, and Newt lost track pretty quickly.)

Two hours after entering the dressing room, Newt emerged with four shirts, three pairs of pants, and three pairs of shoes. Crowley, who had been browsing the racks, looked up. “All set?”

“Think so,” Newt said. “I’ve been met with approval, anyway.”

“Good.”

Once again, Newt paid at the counter, wincing slightly as he handed over his credit card. The man was kind enough to pretend not to notice.

“That it?” Newt asked as they stepped out of the shop and back onto the street.

“Nope,” Crowley said. “Next is makeup.”

“Makeup?” Newt repeated. “Do I need makeup?”

“Everyone needs makeup,” Crowley said. “I invented it.”

Newt considered this. “Then wouldn’t that make it a bad thing, and I shouldn’t do it?”

“Shouldn’t have asked me for help if you were gonna get tripped up on stuff like that,” Crowley said sagely, and started off down the sidewalk.

They wound up back at the same salon Newt had got his haircut in, but this time Crowley steered Newt towards the back. “Sacha,” he called. “Pulsifer’s here.”

Sacha turned out to be a short, heavyset woman with hair pulled back so tight her eyebrows were permanently raised. “Right,” she said, parking him in her chair. “Pay attention.”

Newt obeyed, listening raptly as she talked about foundation and concealer and dabbed things all over his face. “I wish I had a notebook,” he said as she smudged something onto his forehead.

“I’ll get you a printout,” Sacha promised.

Finally, she put down the brush she had been using, wiped her hands on a cloth at her station, and presented his reflection in the mirror. Newt leaned forward and peered at his face. “It almost looks like I’m not wearing anything,” he remarked.

“That’s how you know you’ve done it right,” she said. “Let me get you that printout.”

Sheet of paper in one hand and bag of bottles and jars in the other, Newt stared at Dick Turpin and wondered how he was going to unlock the door. Crowley took pity on him and claimed temporary custody of the bag. “Thanks,” Newt said.

“No problem.”

Newt unlocked Dick Turpin and Crowley slung the bag into the backseat. Newt carefully placed the printout underneath it and shut the door. “For everything, I meant,” Newt said. “Not just for holding the bag.”

“No problem,” Crowley said again. “Happy to help. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” Newt said.

He beat Anathema home, which was lucky. Darting up to their bedroom, he dropped off the shopping bags and went to get started on dinner.

Once dinner was done and safely placed in the warm oven, he went back upstairs and changed into some of his new clothes, carefully folding and replacing his old clothes in their spots in the closet. He didn’t want them to feel  _ bad _ \- they weren’t bad clothes. They’d served him well for years, and would no doubt continue to do so for years to come. He just wanted a bit of a change.

Anathema came in just as he was lighting the candles on the table. “Something smells delicious,” she called.

Newt hurriedly pulled the plates out of the oven and set them on the counter. “Dinner’s ready,” he called back.

She came into the kitchen and froze at the sight of him. “You look different.”

“Good different?” he asked, suddenly nervous. “Or bad different?” What if she didn’t like it?

She gave this due consideration. “Good different,” she said, after a few moments. “I liked how you looked before, but this is nice too.”

Newt beamed at her. “I like it. I feel different. Better.”

She came forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Then that’s all that matters.”

He twisted his head and caught her mouth. She grinned against his lips and kissed him firmly. “Hungry?” he murmured.

“Starved,” she said. “Let’s eat, and then let’s get you upstairs and out of those fancy clothes.”

Newt kissed her again and picked up his plate.


End file.
